


Clear-Sighted

by jackdawq



Category: Persona 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackdawq/pseuds/jackdawq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It sounds like an apology Tatsumi-san has had to make before, far too many times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear-Sighted

In December – as they pursue Adachi, and the fog in the television world bleeds into the real – their magic no longer works the way it should.

Naoto recognizes that her 'should' is based on only brief experience with the TV world, but the others have confirmed it. The abilities their Personas manifest are now unpredictable in both intensity and form. The results range from inconvenient to dangerous; tonight, the latter.

Take-Mikazuchi roars to life, body coursing with electricity, but the lightning bolt it hurls at the Solemn Machine sputters into sparks. The Shadow swings its giant sword, strikes Kanji with the flat side – Naoto's breath catching in her throat – and sends him flying across the room. He smashes into a wall with what she imagines is an audible crack and drops to the floor in a limp pile of limbs.

It's through force of will that Naoto stands firm. Yukiko and Teddie are best equipped to help, she reminds herself, as Sukuna-Hikona spirals toward the Machine. After a drawn-out fight, the Shadow is rippling with static and close to defeat. Souji's Yoshitsune attacks in a whirl of thrusts and slashes - and though none leave more than deep scratches, they serve as the distraction Naoto needs. Sukuna-Hikona shoots upward, lifts its glowing sword, then plunges it into the Machine's neck in a shower of sparks. The Machine screeches – mechanical, metal on metal – and crashes to the ground. Even as it melts into nothing, Naoto's already looking across the room. Yukiko is at Kanji's side as expected, Amaterasu glowing at her back, but her brow is furrowed with worry. Kanji keeps trying to sit up, face wracked with agony at each attempt.

"Stay still, Kanji-kun," Yukiko's saying when Naoto dashes over.  " _Please_ stay still, I'm trying to help you."

_Trying_ being the operative word. Amaterasu's glow is dim. Kanji's head is bleeding badly, his arm is twisted at an impossible angle, and the healing magic seems to be doing nothing. It takes Ted's assistance and four more Diaharans for Kanji's arm to look remotely normal, and his breathing remains uneven and rapid.

Souji's expression is as level as always, but with a sharp tension Naoto has seen on only a handful of dire occasions. "We're wrapping it up for today," he says.

"Seriously?" Yosuke shakes his head. "Okay - but dude, we're running out of time."

Kanji doesn't protest at all, which worries her more than anything else tonight. Instead he mutters curses under his breath and clutches his injured arm. Yosuke offers him his hand and Kanji stands up – or tries to. He staggers back, and it takes both Yosuke and Souji to prevent him from toppling to the floor.

"Dammit," he groans. "That – that was just plain fucking _stupid_ , I should've—ah, hell with it...you can let go of me, yeah?"

Souji and Yosuke do so, but hover behind, ready to catch him a second time. "Dude, you are like _ten_ times heavier than I would've thought. How much do you eat?" Yosuke grumbles. Naoto understands what he's trying to do, and either Kanji also does or he's simply too distracted to snap back a response.

"Just need t'rest," he says instead. His good hand's holding his head, blood between his fingers. "Be fine after that."

"We'll portal out." Souji turns to the group. "Can someone take him home?"

Before Kanji can object, Rise cuts in. "Sure. I live close by. Pretty sure I won't be able to catch you, Kanji-kun – so you better stay upright, okay?"

"I'll come too," Naoto blurts - then, realizing the need for justification, adds, "Should he collapse, Rise-chan and I can assist him together."

"You two couldn't lift _half_ of him," Chie says, but Souji nods and pulls a Goho-M from his pocket. As he opens the portal, energy splitting the air, Naoto moves to Kanji's side and pretends she doesn't see the knowing look Rise shoots her.

* * *

 

They arrive in the fog-shrouded shopping district forty minutes later, on the last bus of the night. Naoto briefly debated asking Kanji to seek professional medical treatment, but she knows his hatred of hospitals, the bad memories such places dredge up. Besides, the bleeding from his head has stopped and though he's still gripping his arm, Yukiko was confident that the break had been healed. He's able to walk – if not in a completely straight line - and equally able to insist that seriously, it's cool, Naoto and Rise can both go home, he just needs to sleep this crap off. For their part, Naoto and Rise have been ignoring him.

Snow continues to fall in light flakes, dusting their clothing and adding to the frozen-over layer underfoot. As they approach the tofu shop, a vague outline in the thick yellow-grey fog, Rise glances at her phone and winces. "Almost eleven. I'm gonna be in _such_ deep trouble."

"Will your grandmother still be awake?" Naoto asks.

"Dunno." Rise lets out a quiet sigh. "I'll probably have to climb in through my bedroom window again."

"Go for it," Kanji mumbles, with a half-shrug. "Gonna be fine, it ain't much further."

"I'll walk with him," says Naoto, striving for the most reassuring tone she can manage. Which isn't very, but Rise seems mollified. If anything, her expression turns oddly pleased - which Naoto again decides to ignore.

"Okay. Take care of him, alright?" Rise rubs her hands together. "Time to climb a drainpipe, I guess."

The image of nationally-famous idol Risette scrabbling up the side of a building is mildly bizarre, but Naoto has seen far stranger things over the past few months. She turns to Kanji, nods toward the north end of the district, and they keep walking. Or staggering slightly, in his case. Naoto places a hand on his back in an attempt to both steady and encourage him. To her surprise he doesn't pull away. Kanji has always seemed nervous and evasive around her, for reasons she understands perfectly well but struggles to answer.

"M'okay now," he insists again. "You can leave too."

"I know," she says, and keeps her hand on his back.

When they reach the textiles shop, the lights are still visible through the windows, faint in the murky fog. Kanji fumbles his key in the lock twice before the door is opened from the other side. His mother stands in the doorway, still dressed in her day clothes. As he stumbles past her into the store, she looks him up and down, eyebrows angled in anxiety. She doesn't, Naoto notes, look terribly surprised. "Oh, my...Kanji-chan, what happened?"

"Got in a fight," Kanji says, gaze determinedly not meeting Tatsumi-san's.

Naoto bites her tongue. What Kanji tells his mother is his business.

Tatsumi-san's expression shifts, now tinged with faint disappointment. "Oh." She reaches up to brush his hair aside, inspects the dried blood on the side of his head, then looks at the arm he's cradling against his chest. "Are you badly hurt?"

"M'fine. Just need to get some rest."

"Of course...you look awful." She turns to Naoto. "Naoto-kun, could you help him upstairs?"

Naoto dips her head. "Of course, Tatsumi-san."

In truth, there's little for her to do other than follow Kanji up the narrow staircase and hope fervently that he doesn't fall backward. At the top, he stumbles through the nearest door and slumps down on his bed, careful to protect his injured arm. Naoto silently thanks him for choosing a Western style bed; although she could help lay out the futon, the thought of entering his room leaves her apprehensive.

"Do you need anything?" she asks, hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

Kanji is lying on his back, eyes closed. "Nah, m'good."

"You have a head injury," she points out. "Sleeping is potentially risky."

" _Had_ one," he says. "S'healed. Gonna be fine."

After that, he falls silent. With nothing else to do, Naoto walks down the stairs, resisting the urge to glance back at his room. She's heading toward the shop door when Tatsumi-san intercepts her path.

"It's cold outside, Naoto-kun," she says. "Why don't you have some tea before leaving?"

Tatsumi-san phrases it like an invitation, makes it sound like one too, but the overall effect is somehow closer to an order. Naoto considers protesting that it's late, that she doesn't want to keep Tatsumi-san awake any longer, that offering to help Kanji home was simply an impulse – yet all objections seem futile. She tips into a half-bow. "...Thank you."

Tatsumi-san smiles, then leads Naoto into the living room. It's small, like her own bare apartment, but entirely different otherwise. It smells like a mix of old wood and floral-scented candles. As Tatsumi-san heads off to the kitchen, Naoto kneels down on one side of the table, takes off her hat, and places it beside her. She glances around the room, mentally cataloging the probably home-made decorations: a multi-colour patchwork throw on the sofa; several small framed embroidered pictures on the walls, mostly of flowers, one of a mountain; four cushions around the table, all bearing the same intricate curving pattern. Some might be Kanji's work, some his mother's. Naoto has heard about the dolls he put up for sale in the shop – has wanted to see them in person, without either understanding the desire or acting on it.

Several minutes later, Tatsumi-san's quiet footsteps sound out from the hallway. She enters the room carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups, and though she's smiling as before, on closer inspection her face is tight with worry. She kneels on the other side of the table and begins pouring the tea. "Thank you for bringing Kanji-chan home."

"I'm glad to help."

They sit in silence for a while, Naoto sipping at her tea, Tatsumi-san leaving her own untouched, before Tatsumi-san says, "I'm sorry he's such trouble."

It sounds like an apology she's had to make before, far too many times, and something twists in Naoto's stomach. Whether or not those earlier instances were warranted, this one isn't. Kanji deserves better. "He wasn't in a fight - I mean, not in the way you might think."

What Kanji tells his mother is his business, yes, but staying silent feels inescapably wrong. In an ideal world, he would have the choice of telling Tatsumi-san what they do and risking her worry, or keeping it a secret and risking her alienation – but in the world they have to deal with, he has no option. Nobody would believe the TV world exists – and if people somehow did, they would never permit highschoolers to go inside and face down a madman. It isn't something _anyone_ should have to do, Naoto thinks, much less a ragtag group of untrained teenagers. When seared flesh and shattered bones can be healed in an instant, it becomes easy to ignore the dangers - but the fog has ironically done much to clear her vision.

Tatsumi-san picks up the teapot, puts it down again. "There's no need to defend Kanji-chan," she says, a little wearily. "He's been in trouble before."

"I – I know. But this fight was honorable. He was...protecting something." All of Inaba and perhaps beyond, if Adachi was correct about the TV world merging with the real. Naoto swallows and clasps her cup a little firmer. "Kanji-kun is a good person."

She could say as much of her other new friends, too - but with Kanji, the effect is more startling. He's a study in contradictions: a brawler with an artist's hands, hotheaded and gentle both. She saw his police record and heard the station gossip within days of arriving in Inaba, was consequently nervous when they first met - and while _this_ is the Kanji his mother thinks people see, Naoto desperately wants to prove otherwise.

Tatsumi-san's look of slight surprise quickly turns into a smile. "He's made quite an impression on you, I see." A pause. "I'm glad he has such good friends now. Yukiko Amagi, that Seta boy – and you, Naoto-kun."

Naoto stares down at her cup and tells herself that the heat in her cheeks is due to the tea. Its warmth has been slowly spreading through her, draining away the adrenaline from the last fight and leaving her feeling exhausted. She shakes herself awake; she needs to return home, before she's too tired to make the hour-long walk to her apartment. "Thank you for the tea, Tatsumi-san. I should—"

"You know," Tatsumi-san interrupts, "we do have a futon packed up in the spare room."

Naoto shakes her head. "I can't impose—"

Tatsumi-san waves her off. "Nonsense. It's far too late for you to be out alone, especially in the snow and fog."

"But I – I don't have anything with me," Naoto tries.

"You can borrow a set of Kanji's pajamas." Tatsumi-san looks her up and down. "Well, they'll be a _little_ big, but it's only one night."

Again, Naoto has the sinking feeling that all protests will lead nowhere. And in truth, going back out into the fog is the last thing she wants to do, particularly right now. She bows. "Thank you, Tatsumi-san."

Naoto climbs the stairs again and goes to the spare room. It's cramped but well-kept, if slightly dusty. Fog presses up against the window, thick and murky behind the glass, forcing her to close the blinds. It's close to midnight now and she wonders what she'd see if she turned on a television. Shadows, perhaps, or Adachi mocking their efforts - or nothing at all. She shakes her head, and begins to lay out the futon.

Just as she finishes, Tatsumi-san knocks and enters, then hands her a set of blue polar-bear-print pajamas. They are, Naoto is forced to mentally admit, very cute.

"Kanji-chan is asleep," says Tatsumi-san. "But I'm sure he won't mind you borrowing these."

Naoto isn't sure whether Tatsumi-san still regards her as male. It seems unlikely given the rate at which the Inaba rumour mill works, but why else would she be willing for Naoto to stay the night? Surely she would regard it as improper? But if she is still under the same impression, if she believes the Detective Prince to be just that, then part of Naoto has no wish for her to stop. "Thank you," Naoto says. When the door closes again, she changes into the pajamas, which turn out to be laughably oversized. The shirt almost reaches her knees, and she has to both pull the drawstring on the pants as tight as it will go and fold up the hems. It's only for one night, though – and there's something comforting about them, something that feels safe. Admitting as much makes her feel stupid, as does the creeping realization that she won't sleep well without checking on Kanji.

She flicks off the light and creaks open the door. Tatsumi-san has already gone to her own room, and save for the faint light from the half-open door to Kanji's bedroom, the house is dark. Naoto takes a deep breath to steel herself, then creeps along the hallway, willing the aging floorboards not to creak, and slips through the gap. Inside, Kanji is lying on his good side, eyes closed, brow slightly furrowed. His injured arm is pulled against him protectively.

Naoto has no intention of standing there watching him sleep all night. She just needed to check on him, make sure he's—

He blinks sleepily at her. "...Why're you here?"

Her first instinct is to start for the door, but she catches herself in time. "You – your head wound," she says. "S-Someone needs to check on you regularly."

He blinks blearily at her again, frowns, then yawns. "'Kay, got it. I'm dreamin'."

Naoto opens her mouth to speak, hesitates, closes it again.

Kanji doesn't appear to notice. "Polar bears," he mumbles, looking at one of her overlong sleeves. "I like that pair. Dunno why you're wearing 'em. Weird dream."

If he doesn't believe this is real, it somehow becomes safer. She pads closer and kneels down beside his bed.

"Wish you _were_ here. I mean, not in my pajamas. S'weird," he rambles. This could be a sign of a worsening injury, Naoto reminds herself - but she doesn't sense absolute disorientation on his part. "Guess it'd be weird for you t'be here anyway. Wouldn't know what to do."

She lets out a breath. "....Neither would I."

He grimaces. "Damn, my arm hurts. Didn't think stuff hurt in dreams."

Naoto folds her arms, rests them on the bed beside him, and rests her chin on top of them. "I'll keep checking on you," she says quietly. "I'll be here."

"No, you won't." Kanji lifts his good hand, hesitant even in what he believes to be a dream, and clumsily cups the back of her head. "But thass okay."


End file.
